


As You Wish.

by wtvoc



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 17:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2436368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtvoc/pseuds/wtvoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now sit against the headboard again. And remember—behave. No touching. Not you, not me; you can grab the headboard if you need to, though.” the prompt from tumblr user elaric was: "orgasm denial."</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Wish.

“Love, you’re being unreasonable.”

“Shh. My turn.”

“But Emma…”

“Quiet. My turn. You _said_.”

His sigh was so forlorn that Emma had to bite back a grin. Instead, she fixed him with the haughtiest look she could muster. He was sitting against the headboard, legs sprawled out in front of him, and she was perched on her knees in between them. Sitting that close to him and not touching him was torture, but that was sort of the point of the exercise, anyway.

The pirate needed punishing.

“I did say. And may I once again take the opportunity to convey my deepest regret. I’d no idea you hadn’t… enjoyed yourself.”

This time Emma allowed herself to smile, but it was a sly one, close-lipped and curling only one corner of her mouth. She leaned toward him, pressing her palms to the headboard so that her wrists pressed against his ears, her mouth nearly touching his—nearly.

“Oh, I enjoyed myself,” she said softly. “I just didn’t… finish.” She drew out the last syllable, her lips pursed as the breath hissed out of her. He winced at that and she winked at him because she knew it was a point of pride with the guy. She had to hand it to him (ha!), he was good at the finishing thing, and that was the first and only time it happened with them. Sure, he had taken the celebratory drinks over their latest villain defeat a bit too seriously, had done one glass of rum with a whiskey chaser too many, so when he passed out right after coming and failed to notice she was still going, she wasn’t shocked. Seriously displeased, sure; shocked, no. Had to happen eventually, right?

“Love, I swear to you, I will make it up in ways you’ve only read about—“

“Oh, I know that.  _This_ is how you’re making it up. Now, behave yourself.”

“Emma.” His voice was wheedling and it was funny, really, how much it was bothering him. She didn’t tell him that sex with him was always great, and she certainly didn’t tell him that the orgasms were a major fucking cut above anything she ever experienced with anyone, ever, but he didn’t need to know that. He was smug enough without her stroking his ego in that way.

Still, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take advantage of a great situation.

“No ‘Emma,’ you said you would make it up to me, and this is how I choose my retribution. Now, take off your pants. Unbutton the shirt, but leave it on.” She sat back and then climbed off the bed, watching with amusement while he shook his head a couple of times before doing as he was bid. He looked mutinous, even, shrugging out of the suspenders (if she could figure out a way for him to keep those on, she would) and ripping at the buttons of his pants, near kicking them off and muttering the entire time.

She did her best to ignore his already aroused state, simply standing with her arms folded and one brow arched on high, nodding once in approval when he finally had his shirt undone.

“Now sit against the headboard again. And remember—behave. No touching. Not you, not me; you can grab the headboard if you need to, though.”

“Love, let’s talk about this—“

“Killian Jones. Do as I say.” His heavy sigh made his entire chest slump in defeat. He nodded twice before looking her in the eye with a wry smile.

“As you wish.”

“Damned right, as I wish. And I wish for no hand or cock action from you.”

“Aye, as the lady requests.” The sudden gleam in his eye gave her pause. She tilted her head and with that movement, she caught a flash of metal in her eye.

“Sneak. No hooks, either. I know how your mind works. Now, sit.” She patted the mattress and gave him a stern look, loving the hell out of the petulant set to his shoulders. He heaved himself onto the bed and did as instructed. Emma sat next to him, leaning over to kiss him briefly on the lips.

“Now, remember the agreed-upon rules,” she murmured, gliding her mouth along his cheek, enjoying the rasp of stubble over her lips. “I didn’t come, so you don’t get to come. No touching me. No touching yourself. You will sit, and you will not move. Tonight,” and here she whispered in his ear, “is all about me.”

His scruff scratched at her cheek as he nodded, and she felt the low thrum of arousal pooling below. Needing to feel something, she put a palm on his chest, reveling in the shudder she felt as she stroked upward.

She took the lobe of his ear between her teeth and sucked lightly; when he gasped, she brought her hand from the tangle of his chest hair and played with his lip, fingering the aperture of his mouth, waiting to see if he’d lick or bite or do any of the things he usually did when he was aroused (and even when he wasn’t).

He didn’t.

“Good boy,” she whispered into his ear, licking lightly where she’d been biting. She removed her fingertips from the temptation of his lips and sat up, looking him right in the eye. “But I don’t know that I can trust you, so I’ll need some collateral.” Then she reached out and took his left arm in her hands, trailing her fingers down the length of it until she hit the hard surface of his brace. Giving him a cocky grin, she grasped his hook in her fist and clicked to the left, removing it completely. She tossed it on the bed, enjoying the look of consternation on his face.

“Now sit back, relax, and follow my rules.”

Standing once again, Emma realized she hadn’t thought this far out. She knew she wanted him to squirm and she knew she was going to make this rough on him, but it suddenly hit her as she stood there—her pirate mostly naked, partially aroused, and thoroughly pissed about it—that this was going to be hard on her, too. Him not touching her, not kissing her in places, not fucking her. And she couldn’t do stuff to him, either. Crap, what a terrible idea.

Then he looked up at her, silent entreaty making his eyes look almost silver in the dim light of their room, and she couldn’t help it, she smirked. Terrible idea it may be, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t enjoy the hell out of it.

Keeping eye contact, Emma pulled her pants down, kicking them off behind her. She quickly removed her shirt and tossed it; then she grabbed a pillow and crawled back onto the mattress. Facing him, she settled her ass down right between his legs and slung her thighs over his, pressing her feet into the headboard just under his arms. She sat up and flipped the pillow behind her, kissing him briefly and smiling before lying back down, wiggling her hips a bit to get her position just right. He eyed her warily, his gaze flicking from her face and down to where her hands rested on either thigh.

Let the games begin.

She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, wondering where to start. It wasn’t like he had never watched her before; in fact, it was one of his favorite things to do, and she loved it, too. The way he would sit there, watching intently while she touched and caressed herself, his tongue occasionally flicking out when she would gasp a certain way, his eyes meeting hers and a look of burning intensity passing between them. Sometimes he would smirk if she was really into it, and sometimes he would look so serious, so entranced, and those were the times when he would start rubbing himself in kind. It drove her crazy knowing that he was so turned on by her that he couldn’t help touching himself, and she would watch him, the way his wrist angled in a certain way, one she could never replicate on him, the way she knew he jerked off when she wasn’t around; the smooth slide of the movement repeated over and over, low on his cock, gentle then hard, always quick, his palm occasionally sliding all the way to the tip so he could smooth his thumb over it then back down just as fast. All the while his eyes trained on her quick movements. She loved those times.

This wasn’t one of them, though. This was new, this was different, this was her exerting control over him, control she always knew she had but had not yet taken advantage of. Trusting him to behave himself, just because she asked, and she felt this overwhelming shudder threaten to take over her body at the enormity of that.

Deciding to channel that tremor, Emma reached down with one hand, crooking her finger into the slim fabric of her underwear and slowly pulling it to the side. She heard an indrawn breath from his quarter and looked up, pleased to see him near-hypnotized at what she was doing. And she hadn’t even begun yet.

“You all right over there?”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah,” she said breathily. “Me, too.” The fingers of her other hand danced over to her skin and with a smile, she tapped at her flesh, undulating a little at the contact. She could feel the rasp of the hair on his thighs against hers, and the double sensations caused a pleasing ache to thrum between her legs.

“Are you—“ He cut off his own words with a moan as her middle finger slowly traced up and down her flesh. He gulped before continuing. “Are you not going to remove your bra?”

She drew her hands away and almost laughed at the way his brow furrowed, consternation marring his beautiful face. She reached up to cup each covered breast, her thumbs toying with the smooth edges along the tops.

“Oh, should I be spending time up here, instead?”

“No, no, I—“ He swallowed again. “Do as you wish. I’ll—I’ll just sit here. Be-behaving.” His stammer was so delightful that she had to grin. The man was always so sure of himself, but now he seemed hesitant, like he didn’t know what to do or what was proper. She liked unsettling him, she liked it very much.

“Please do.” Wiggling her back a little to settle in better, she cupped her breasts once more and then slid her hands down, feeling the press her of her own fingers, pretending as she looked at him that the touch was his. It nearly felt like it, the way his eyes followed her downward path, watching carefully, stopping when she stopped at the tops of her thighs, breathing when she did, his eyes widening when she separated her hands to each hip and hooked her thumbs into the black cotton resting there.

With a cocked brow, she lifted her hips a little, having to bite her lip painfully at his gasp because her movement almost brought her in contact with his now-straining cock. Throwing him a wide, saucy half smile, she pushed her underwear as far as she could before realizing there was no graceful way to get it off.

“You may remove them for me.”

His grateful smile and indrawn breath made her heart flutter, like she loved his joy at the unexpected gift.

“No funny business, though.”

“Trust me, darling,” he laughed as his shaking hand grasped the crotch of her underwear. “None of this is funny to me.”

“Shh. No, don’t keep them. Toss them aside.”

He sighed in defeat, the crumbled garment sailing off to her right as he returned his gaze to her now-naked bottom half.

He looked so forlorn sitting there, naked and unable to do anything about it, that she almost said “fuck it” and climbed right into his lap so she could give him the fucking of a lifetime. But it had turned into a test for her as well, and dammit, she could do this.

Closing her eyes once again, her mind suddenly jumped to a particularly memorable session of theirs, one where they had both had a couple glasses of whiskey, straight up, were both feeling it, and were both giggling like idiot teenagers. That was the night she discovered that Killian Jones could eat a woman out for over an hour without even breaking a sweat; it was also the night she discovered how fucking hot it was to see a man take utter delight in pleasing her; the night she watched in rapt attention, the way the veins in his forearm bulged out as he wrapped his arm around one thigh and pressed cold, hard hook into the other, spreading her open, his hair waving across his forehead with each insistent motion of his head as he licked her up and down, up and down, his eyes occasionally seeking hers as she watched and gasped and moaned.

Emma thought of that and allowed her fingers to drift, one hand spreading and the other strumming. She heard the catch of his breath, felt the acceleration of it from the way his expanding chest touched the sides of her knees. She kept her eyes shut, feeling his warm skin beneath her, the familiarity of her own touch against her wet warmth helping to steady her own increased breathing.

She was slow at first, easing into it as usual, allowing the reassurance of his presence and the vivid details of her own memory guide her motions; a light press of her middle finger at the top, sliding down to dip in to gather the wetness and spread it back up, back again, back and forth, slowly, lightly until one touch just there ( _oh_ ), press a little harder, rub a little faster, think of his tongue, the way it feels, the way it moves, his eyes, his gaze,  _him_ .

She felt him shift beneath her and she cracked her eyes open, hoping to see the same heated gaze she was imagining. She was not disappointed. He was focused on her, his mouth slack, his chest heaving. Then her eyes opened fully when she noticed his fist; his arm was hovering above her leg, his hand clenching and opening, as if he were trying to keep himself from touching her. Good.

She stopped her motions.

It was like breaking him from a trance. He looked at her face, confused.

“Emma?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You looked like you were about to break my rules.” Her pointed gaze indicated his hovering hand, and he looked down at it sheepishly.

“Force of habit, love. I’ll behave.”

“Mm hmm.” She settled back into it, keeping her eyes open this time but still imagining things. This time she thought about what he would do if she suddenly called the whole rules thing off. First, he’d probably dive down and kiss her senseless because the man  _really_ loved to kiss. He could posture and preen all he wanted, she knew it was true. His mouth was on her all the time, even if it was just a brief press of lips on the back of her hand (a bit of his gallantry that she would never admit to loving). Then, while he was kissing her, his hand would take over for hers, definitely. He wouldn’t move her fingers, necessarily, he’d just help her along, maybe thrusting into her, first his middle finger, then he’d include the ring finger, maybe bend his pointer finger so that the knuckle would press into her clit while she kept herself spread open for it. Yeah, that’s what he’d do.

She was working herself in earnest now. She had to bite back a moan when she looked at him; he looked pained, like he was probably imagining the same fucking thing as she was only dirtier, filthier; harder and faster, and it would be good, it would be so so so good. She could see him flexing, like he was holding himself back, and it was driving her nuts.

Then the fucker started to shift a bit, his leg hair scratching at the backs of her thighs, the sensation somehow sending tendrils of sensation right to where she was touching herself, her fingers sliding over and occasionally in, finding a good spot, such a good, good spot, yeah,  _right_ there. His breathing matched hers, escalating, audible, loud panting in the room.

“Emma…”

There was a hint of soft panic in his voice, and she knew. She was close and he was close and it was going to be awful for him. But then the spot moved or her fingers slipped because the intensity was gone, or maybe she just got distracted by the desperate whimper in his voice, but either way, she wasn’t going to come, not yet.

He, on the other hand, looked dicey. She felt bad until she remembered why they were there in the first place.

“No.” She was not going to give in, no matter how much she wanted to. She just… needed to figure out how to help the poor pirate out. The pirate. Captain Hook. The hook.

She glanced to where she’d tossed it and before she could analyze her thoughts it was in her hand, her fingers still working though not as furiously as a moment ago.

“What’re you doing with that, love,” he murmured, not really paying attention, his eyes still trained on her fingers. She could see his erection bobbing slightly, which meant that he was moving his pelvis around, unconsciously seeking friction. Well, that had to stop before he stuck it in her or she put it in her mouth or something. She would  _not_ give in.

“Breathe, Killian,” she laughed. Smirking, she switched the hook to her right hand and used her left to spread herself open. Starting at the bottom, she curved the entire length of the cool metal over herself, slowly, squeezing her muscles and hissing at the sensation. It was different from when he did it, the angle was different, and new, and fucking  _fantastic_ .

She looked up at him and he was frozen, utterly amazed—his eyes wide, chest heaving as he watched. He leaned forward, his mouth open, the tip of his tongue rubbing the same two teeth over and over. She watched that, the sneer in his lip, his tongue caressing his teeth, her wrist matching the movements as she rubbed herself with his hook, over and over, harder and harder.

Then she shifted angles again, holding her breath as she brought the end of the metal in contact with her clit, closing her eyes involuntarily at the pleasure, the sharp contact almost too much, images of him doing the same thing with his mouth pressed to her ear invading her head, lightly, softly, then pressing just a bit harder, hissing, hers and his and oh God, she wanted to feel him, wanted him in her, wanted him in her  _now_ .

“Emma…” Such desperation. Damn. She was close to breaking her own rule.

“Shh,” she soothed, stopping her movements. Then a wild idea hit her and before she could question herself, she raised the hook and brandished it a bit, making sure he was tracking her movements. Narrowing her eyes, she sat up enough that she could touch him with it and gently ran the glistening tip of the metal down the full length of his cock. He bucked into it and she drew away with a laugh, not wanting him to hurt himself. She’d probably feel bad about that.

But she returned to her task.  _Oh, this is good_ . She sat up and put her tongue between her teeth in concentration and delight. Tilting her head, she studied his cock, saw the way his body trembled and it bobbed. The veins seemed to mesmerize her, they always did; it was why she was so fond of tracing them with the very tip of her tongue. She decided to mimic the movement with his own hook.

He squeezed his eyes shut; she could tell he was holding his breath, and if it weren’t for the way he was licking his lips, she’d think she was hurting him. She stilled her movements and shifted her hips a little, wanting contact but denying both herself and him. Her movement seemed to startle him and he reached down, grasping at his hook, keeping it steady.

“I think you’re in danger of forgetting the rules, Captain.” His hand relaxed and he sat back, the skin of his sides and the edges of his shirt brushing against her legs, making a thrill course up her thighs.

“I find using a man’s hook against him bad form, love.”

“Oh, are you saying I’m  _bad_ ?” She pitched her voice so it was low, husky. He winced.

“Don’t.”

“I  _am_ bad. Mean, even.” Emma turned the hook slightly so that it wouldn’t draw blood and watched carefully as she dragged it up. She could see the muscles in his abdomen tense, highlighting their definition—not deep and defined, but taut and toned. She wanted to bite them.

_Scrape_ .

“Ach, Emma!” He cried out in pained disbelief.

“Thought you needed a reminder.”

He panted in response, but in a good way.

“Do you want to call this off?” She was purring now, she knew it, and she loved it. Her eyes met his, the soulful blue full of pitiful entreaty. He licked his lips and glanced briefly at his hook, still pressed to his hard, straining flesh.

“No.”

“Good.”

She settled back down, a new feeling invading the pit of her abdomen. She loved to tease the guy, and blowing him? Amazing. Nothing was better than making this man—this terror of the high seas—this fucking  _pirate_ —absolutely wrecked from something she did to him.

But this was new. He was always down for the rough stuff, but it was usually done on her. Biting, scratching—those were things he liked done to him. This new thing, though. New, different—fucking  _hot_ . She pressed the hook harder before bringing it back to herself, metal pressing to swelled flesh, gasping on a sigh at the contact.

“Love.” Her eyes snapped to his, the warm throb from between her thighs making her lick her lips. She increased her movements, keeping his gaze, his steely-blue deepening, his mouth open, his chest heaving in time to her movements and her own heaving, in tandem, in sync, always in sync even when they weren’t really touching, and damn but she wanted him to touch, to feel, to slide his fingers inside and curl them, find a spot, any fucking spot, touch it and work it hard, fucking rough and hard with tender words at her ear, words of filth and devotion, whispered and rasped, “love” and “fuck” and “wet” and “need” and “let me” and and and—

“Ah.” A soft gasp. She looked down to his mouth, her fingers still spreading, her wrist still moving, almost there, almost almost almost there, but he was bleeding, he’d bitten his lip, he was trying so hard, so so hard to not come and he wanted her to come and she wanted to come but  _fuck_ , it’s not the same, it’s not—she wanted him. She wanted him  _bad_ .

Emma felt the small, sharp thrill of it, right there, just there, right on the precipice if she just wouldn’t lose it—she looked back into his eyes, the desperation there, the need, and tried to focus on it but it wouldn’t come,  _fuck_ , she couldn’t come.

She wasn’t going to come.

_Fuck_ .

She slowed her movements, shifting the angle slightly in case there was something else there, but she already knew there wasn’t. Sighing, she stopped completely.

“Emma?” The hazy, lust-filled confusion in his voice made her smile slightly as she met his eyes again. She tossed the hook to the side and sat up until she was straddling his thighs, careful to avoid putting her parts anywhere near his. He still owed her one.

“I’m fine.” Still being careful not to move her hips, she reached out and lazily drummed her fingers on his lip. She gave a nod when he cocked his head to the side and raised his eyebrows. With a grateful sigh, he reached out with his tongue and licked the tip of her middle finger, sighing in pleasure at the taste of her. If she thought it would happen, she could have started touching herself on that thought alone, but she knew it wouldn’t come to anything.

She needed it to be him. Dammit.

“But you didn’t… shatter, love. Was that not the point of this torture? That I owed you one?” She still had her hand at his mouth and he continued his tasting of her, murmuring the words around her flesh as his tongue snaked out, his lips savoring and caressing every last inch of Emma off of her fingers.

She drew her hand away, smirking at his noises of protest. She got up on her knees and leaned over, kissing him long and messy. Then she climbed off him and off the bed, searching around for her pants.

“Yeah, about that. I’ve decided you still get to make it up to me, we’re just gonna try something different.”

“Oh, really,” he murmured, watching her shimmy into her jeans without putting on any underwear, his eyes intent on every inch of her skin. She could tell he was still tense with arousal, the veins in his arms standing out as he braced himself on the edge of the bed. Good.  _Think of what he’ll be like if kept in this state until tomorrow_ . The thought made her beam with warmth, both inside and down below.

“Yeah, really. Tomorrow.” She walked over to the dresser, making sure to put a little extra sway to her hips. Reaching in for a gray man’s undershirt, she shrugged into it, no bra. Turning around and well-aware that her nipples were obscene at the moment, she smiled at him. “I’m going to get something to eat. Coming?”

His scowl as she walked away was almost worth not having an orgasm. Almost.

**Author's Note:**

> eyyyyyy sexual frustration is fun. thankya, elaric! (i'm this-too-too-sullied-flesh on tumblr if you wanna come yell at me)


End file.
